


Long Road to Ruin

by wandathefish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandathefish/pseuds/wandathefish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is right-hand man to mafia boss Michael Di Angeles. Dean is unfailingly loyal to his boss and completely trustworthy… except maybe when it comes to Michael's blue-eyed lover. AU Dean/Cas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Winchester, could you come and join me for a moment please."

The softly spoken words may have sounded like a friendly invitation, but Dean knows as well as any, that a request from the lips of Michael Di Angeles carries as much weight as a command from a general.

Dean detaches himself from his post against the drawing room wall, a sick nervous feeling building in the pit of his stomach as he falls into step beside his boss. He doesn't think he'll ever get over his uneasiness around Di Angeles. But then he doubts many people are comfortable around a man with a reputation such as his.

There are few alive who know the true story of Michael Di Angeles' rise in the underworld of New York… or more accurately, few who know from first hand experience which of the stories about the mafia lord are true and which are fiction.

Needless to say, Dean has certainly seen enough of the man to know that when he says "Jump", you ask "How high?"

"I have something of a… personal favour I would like to ask of you."

There he goes again, making requests.

"Of course, boss, whatever you need."

Michael smiles that indulgent fatherly smile. He's not as old as John Winchester would have been now, and John Winchester certainly didn't scare the crap out of Dean the way Michael does, but sometimes, Dean finds himself likening his boss to his dad. Maybe it's the irrational desire to do whatever it takes to make him proud. John Winchester died without ever giving his eldest son the approval he so badly he craved; he was never the overly caring and sharing type. And whilst Michael isn't exactly warm and fuzzy, he's not above dropping a few words of praise where it's deserved, and so Dean finds himself constantly striving harder, pushing himself above and beyond to do whatever it takes to please the man. As a result, he's quickly become one of Di Angeles' most trusted men.

"It's about Castiel."

But there it is. The big fat reminder of why Dean certainly doesn't deserve that trust. He feels a warm rush followed by an icy stab of fear, as he does every time he hears Michael mention his partner's name. Dean swallows although his mouth has gone suddenly dry, and hopes that his ruffled composure does not show in his expression.

Of course it doesn't, he's been doing this far too long to make a mistake like that.

"I was supposed to be taking Castiel to the opera tonight, a surprise for his birthday. Unfortunately, something has come up and I have to go away for a few days." Dean has an uneasy feeling he knows where this is going. "I was hoping perhaps you would be able to take him, with my apologies."

So not a good idea.

"Sir, I really don't think Mr Novak would want to…"

"Dean, Castiel will be perfectly happy spending an evening with you… although I would wager he will not even realise you are there once you get him to his beloved opera."

Dean knows he cannot refuse, so instead, he takes a deep breath and asks,

"When would you like me to pick Mr Novak up?"

(***)

Castiel eyes his reflection in the mirror as he slips on his dinner jacket and adjusts his bowtie. Despite loading it with gel, his dark hair is already beginning to stick up at odd angles, but he doesn't bother trying to tame it any more, he knows from past experience the more he fiddles the worse it will look. He picks up the new bottle of aftershave Michael has sent him, along with a note telling him when to be ready. He removes the lid and takes an experimental sniff, but immediately recoils, screwing up his face. Replacing the lid swiftly, he pushes the bottle to the back of a drawer.

Ten years and Michael still knows nothing of his tastes. Or most likely he knows, he just doesn't care. Michael would much prefer to buy Castiel something for a thousand dollars that he hates, than go for a cheap alternative.

And more often than not, Castiel will wear it… it's safer than the alternative. Lately though, he's been tempted to push the boundaries a little, see how far he can get. Maybe he's losing his sense of self preservation, or discovering a masochistic side to himself he never knew he had.

Or maybe he's just growing tired of the feeling that he has no say in his own life… once happy to go along with anything to make Michael happy, grateful for the other man's care and protection, recently he's been plagued by discontent. And a dangerous desire for something more than he has, probably more than he deserves, but can't prevent himself from wanting all the same… something for himself.

Smiling self depreciatingly in the mirror, Castiel shakes his head to try and clear the cloud of melancholy. It's his birthday. Michael has a surprise planned for him. He should be excited.

Castiel hears the clock in the main hall chime seven; Michael will be downstairs waiting for him; the man despises tardiness. Taking a last glance at his reflection, Castiel arranges his features into… well, if not excitement, something at least denoting a certain enthusiasm. Breathing deeply, Castiel retreats a little into himself, fake smile held in place with little conscious thought, and heads down the stairs to greet his lover.

(***)

"Are we leaving right away?" Castiel calls as he opens the hall closet to retrieve his overcoat. Michael is not in the entrance hall so Castiel presumes he is having a drink in the drawing room while he waits.

"Michael?" he calls, when there is no reply Castiel sticks his head into the drawing room, finding it dark and empty, and tilts his head in confusion.

"Hey Cas."

The voice that greets him comes from behind… and is certainly not the one he was expecting. He whirls around to find the owner of the voice leaning casually against the door frame, dressed in an expensive looking black tux that emphasises the breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist. The smirk is casual, an openly friendly expression designed to reassure, but there is an unreadable glimmer behind the soft green eyes.

"Dean…" he breathes, raking his eyes over the other man, so unexpected he almost forgets himself. "What are you doing here?" he struggles to keep his tone nonchalant.

"Came to take you out for your birthday," Dean grins. "Mr Di Angeles' orders. I'm to look after you whilst he's…" Dean pauses for a second and lowers his eyelids, a slow smile spreading across his face. When he glances back to Castiel, the look he gives him makes the other man's breath catch and his heart speed, "…out of town."

Castiel catches his lip between his teeth, unable to prevent the blush heating his cheeks, or the warm rush of blood further south.

"Michael's not here?" Castiel breathes.

Dean shakes his head in confirmation, stepping forward to take Castiel's overcoat and hold it out for him.

Their gazes remain locked as Castiel slowly turns, slipping his arms into the sleeves and allowing Dean to slide the coat on.

"That's… unfortunate." He murmurs.

Dean breaks eye contact and turns his attention to adjusting the coat over Castiel's shoulders, taking his time smoothing the material down his arms before returning to fix the collar.

"It is indeed, Mr Novak," Dean's face is a picture of innocence, but he can't help but bite his lip when his fingers gently brush Castiel's neck and he feels the other man shiver. "But fortunately, I'm here, and my orders are to do whatever it takes to make sure you have the perfect birthday."

Dean carefully turns Castiel around so they are stood toe to toe, then slides his hands up to tweak the front of the already perfect overcoat. He's fully aware of the other man's swift breathing as he lets his eyes slowly caress his sharp jawline lingering for a moment on soft pink lips, before finally lifting to meet the wide blue gaze boring into him.

His lips curve into a lazily seductive smile.

"Whatever it takes."


	2. Chapter 2

It's a fundamental fact of human nature that being told not to do something automatically makes it suddenly irresistible.

It was a constant irritation to Dean growing up, when he was told to watch his little brother, and the damn kid did the opposite of everything Dean said. _Don't put that twig in your mouth Sammy... Sam, don't dare touch that dead bird... Dude, don't put your spoon in the power socket…_

But now- well, Dean is a little perturbed to find that he apparently has the same basic traits as a five-year old.

Dean's not an idiot, it's not like he isn't used to being around Castiel, measuring all his words and actions to make sure he doesn't slip up. Keeping his eyes averted and his hands to himself despite all his instincts telling him to do otherwise has become practically second nature to him.

Usually it isn't this difficult.

The driver up front has a good view of everything that goes on in the car, and Dean's fully aware of what the consequence could be for one stray touch, or a gaze that lingers a little too long. Nevertheless, the more he reminds himself that he _isn't_ allowed to just reach out and lay his hand on Castiel's thigh, the more appealing the idea becomes.

_Damn that stupid negative suggestion shit._

Castiel himself appears oblivious to Dean's internal struggle. He sits quietly, with his body angled slightly away from Dean, gazing contemplatively out into the dark night. His hand rests on the dark leather of the seat between them, and every so often he drums his fingers lightly, unwittingly drawing Dean's attention to the long pale appendage.

Narrowing his eyes as though the hand is personally mocking him, Dean casually allows his own to fall to the seat, and subtly shifts it until it rests gently against Castiel's.

He doesn't look at Castiel, but he hears the other man's quiet intake of breath, and after a few moments Castiel fidgets slightly. The movement is tiny, but Dean cannot mistake it as a cool finger deliberately traces the back of his hand before Castiel folds his arms into his lap.

Dean bites back a sigh, wondering if Castiel knows just how much affect he has on him.

He steals a glance at the other man, and swallows heavily when he finds himself trapped by an assessing blue stare. He holds the gaze for a second too long, his throat working dryly. He is just about to break away when Castiel smirks slightly, a barely there twitch of his lips, then Dean's eyes catch a flash of pink, and the glisten of Castiel's tongue as he wets his lips.

Dean turns abruptly and glares out of the window.

Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

(***)

The excessive early evening traffic means the journey takes a little under an hour, and by the time they arrive, Dean is more than ready to be out of the enclosed space. He makes a lousy passenger at the best of times, preferring instead to be the one behind the wheel, and the addition of Castiel sat less than two feet away, looking ridiculously hot in his custom tailored suit has only served to compound his discomfort.

When the car pulls up outside the opera house, it takes him a moment to remember that Castiel has spent all this time not knowing where they were headed.

"Oh, so we're going to the opera," Dean turns his head at the other man's pleased sigh to see him gazing out of the window with a contented smile.

"Oh yeah… um… surprise," Dean chuckles awkwardly, glancing over Castiel's shoulder to the impressive image the theatre makes outlined against the night sky, it's tall arches lit from within.

"La Traviata," Dean follows Castiel's gaze to the promotional signs outside the theatre, "It's the opening night."

"Is that… good?"

Castiel hums in pleasure and turns to Dean, his eyes bright and a small smile gracing his lips. "It's one of my favourites."

Dean grins affectionately at the look on Castiel's face; for a man usually so expressionless, he looks about as close to a kid at the gates of Disney World as you can get. Suddenly Dean is struck by a sharp pang of jealousy at the thought that Michael is the one who has put that look on his face.

"Come on," he prompts gently, "It's starting soon and we'll want to be in our seats by then."

Castiel nods and exits the car whilst Dean makes arrangements with the driver to collect them later.

"Enjoy the opera Winchester," the kid snickers.

"Shut it, loser," Dean claps him round the head good-naturedly, before sliding out of the car and joining Castiel on the sidewalk.

"Ok Pavarotti," he smirks, "Let's go."

(***)

Castiel appears to be well known in the opera house. The second they pass through the grand double doors into the foyer, the chief usher rushes over to greet him by name.

Dean hangs back awkwardly whilst they fall into easy conversation about the upcoming performance. He has no idea what they are talking about, but he's pretty sure most of it isn't in English.

Eventually Castiel turns to catch his eye, seeming surprised that Dean isn't still beside him.

"Come on Dean," he beckons, "George is going to show us to our box."

Dean's eyes widen as he falls into step beside Castiel, following the short greying man through the theatre's narrow hallways, softly lit by flickering imitation candles in intricate brass holders. Somehow, he never equated Michael's mention of theatre seats, with Di Angeles' own private box.

If he had, he may have been more inclined to try his hand at refusing the man for once.

The chief usher, 'George' apparently, finally leads them into a corridor different from the others. All along one wall are the heavy red curtains that enclose the boxes. At the very last one, they stop, and the old man pulls the drapes aside for them.

"I hope you enjoy the performance gentleman," he bows slightly, waiting until they step inside, then allows the heavy curtain to fall back into place... and they are alone.

Dean swallows thickly as he gazes around the small intimate space, all rich velvet upholstery and muted lighting, the side panel and rail block out most of the audience and give the illusion of privacy.

Inappropriately, he is reminded of the booths at a brothel he used to frequent in his younger days.

Really not the kind of thing he needs to be thinking of right now.

Castiel remains silent, and Dean fidgets uncomfortably, struggling to find his usual confidence when he is so far out of his comfort zone. Glancing around uncertainly, he reaches for one of the chairs, mainly for something to do, and gestures for the other man to sit. Castiel stares at him for a long moment, then takes a deliberate step closer until their bodies are pressed lightly together, and their noses are mere inches apart.

Dean draws in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity.

"Thank you Dean," Castiel murmurs, holding Dean's blown gaze, whilst Dean's heart rate triples at the feel of the other man's warm breath skimming his face.

The moment drags on, and Dean finds himself unable to move. His senses are overloaded by Castiel's closeness, the scent of his skin, and the heat radiating through the Italian-spun fabric of his suit. Everything in him is screaming to reach out for the other man, so much so, his fingers tighten around the back of the chair, unable to let go for fear he will take hold of something else.

"Cas… please sit down," Dean's voice comes out strained and uneven, unsure how long he can keep himself in check if Castiel insists on testing his limits. People can see them here dammit! And Castiel is obviously well known in the place. Castiel sighs softly and backs away; he throws Dean a sheepish smile before stepping past and seating himself.

Dean lets out a long breath, and takes his own seat gratefully, rubbing his damp palms against his thighs. He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself, concentrating on his own racing heart, rather than the soft breaths coming from the seat beside him. He is well aware that Castiel is watching him, but he pushes it from his mind, focusing instead on the disjointed sound of the orchestra tuning up.

"I'm very grateful to you for bringing me here Dean," Castiel's soft words interrupt his careful concentration. "I realise that this is not exactly your idea of an enjoyable evening."

"Don't worry about it man." Dean chuckles, "It's your birthday, we do your thing. I just hope you have a good time."

Castiel considers Dean for a moment from beneath his eyelashes, then his lips part in a slow smile.

"Oh I have no doubt that you will show me a good time."

Dean splutters a little, whilst Castiel smirks, turning his eyes to the stage.

_Bastard_

(***)

The opera turns out to be much more interesting than Dean had imagined.

Obviously not the bit with the people in dumb costumes wailing on the stage- Dean barely spares them a glance.

No, the really entertaining part comes from watching Castiel. The man is a performance unto himself… and Dean is riveted.

He had worried that he would have to endure a whole evening of mischievous smirks and suggestive comments, but the second the first note of the overture sounds, Castiel's attention is absolute.

Dean observes in amusement as the other man, usually so closed off and stoic, comes alive watching the performance unfold. His expressions mimic the performers'- the laughter, the horror, during the intermission he forgoes any opportunity to tease Dean some more, in favour of explaining the intricacies of the plot. Dean listens and nods politely, but the words wash over him without him really registering anything other than how Castiel's cheeks are flushed pink, and the way his usually rough voice softens to a warm caress when he is so animated.

When the final note is sung and the last chord has faded away into the ether, Dean is almost sorry that it's over. Castiel remains frozen for a moment before drawing a deep shuddering breath. His smile is blinding when he turns to Dean.

"Thank you Dean, that was wonderful."

Even over the rapturous applause of the audience, Dean hears the soft words clear as day. It's on the tip of his tongue to blurt that he hasn't done anything, it wasn't his gift and he's only doing his job. But in the face of Castiel's gratitude, the words die in his throat, and he can only nod dumbly.

Castiel turns back to the stage, adding his own appreciation to the standing ovation the cast are receiving. Dean can't help but be captivated by the small smile of pleasure that sits on his lips.

Eventually the applause dies down, and the crowd starts to file towards the exits. Like a spell has been broken, Castiel looks at Dean, and for the first time in hours, his attention is on him fully.

Dean fidgets under the weight of that stare, feeling as though he has been shown a secret part of Castiel tonight, something he has never seen before. He smiles awkwardly and runs his hands through his hair.

"So, we should probably head off now, the car will be waiting."

Castiel considers him a moment longer, then nods and stands silently, holding out a hand to Dean to help him up. Dean grips it and is tugged to his feet, but gasps when the other man doesn't let go, and he finds himself with Castiel right up in his personal space.

"I seem to remember you promising me the perfect birthday," Castiel murmurs, glancing up at Dean from beneath hooded lids.

Dean swallows nervously and glances around, finding gratefully that the theatre is almost empty.

"So I did."

Castiel's thumb snakes up to Dean's wrist, smoothing small circles into the sensitive skin.

"Well so far it has been excellent, but I don't think I could say it was perfect… yet."

"Is that right?" Dean croaks, his heart rate picking up as the tension from earlier returns, rushing up on him and stealing his breath. "And what would you like me to do about that?"

Castiel hums softly, pressing impossibly closer in the plush cocoon of their secluded retreat. His nose runs gently along Dean's jawline, inhaling softly and causing Dean's brain to short-circuit.

Soft lips press to his ear, and Dean groans when he feels the light scrape of teeth against his lobe. The rumbled words that are spoken into his skin send a wave of heat crashing through him, a rush of arousal hot on it's heels.

"Take me home Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean avoids looking at Castiel at all during the return trip, instead spending his time glowering out of the window, his jaw clenched in semi-aroused agitation.

He tries to concentrate on the lights of the city moving past outside, but their slow progress soon frustrates him and he takes to staring at the back of the driver's head instead, internally cursing him for his careful driving.

He can't really blame the kid for not going any faster; the traffic's heavy and Dean wouldn't exactly be keen on weaving through small gaps if he was in charge of one of Di Angeles expensive motors. Still, he wishes now more than ever that he was the one in the driving seat - at least if he had the road to focus on he might not be thinking so much about how easy it would be to lay Castiel out on the roomy backseat… how he could cover Cas's body with his own and press him into the soft leather…

_Dammit._

Dean tries to shove the tempting image from his mind as he feels himself begin to harden. He screws his eyes shut and shifts awkwardly in his seat, attempting to think of something… _anything_ that will stop this journey becoming any more uncomfortable that it already is.

He drops his head back hard against the solid headrest, letting out a long slow breath of defeat.

It's going to be a long journey.

(***)

Despite Dean's doubts that the tension-filled trip would ever end, the car finally turns into the gravel drive of Di Angeles' residence, less than an hour after they left the theatre.

Dean looks up at the approaching red-brick building still shrouded in darkness, and heaves an internal sigh of relief; the unlit windows and empty garage around the side indicate nothing has changed since they left earlier in the evening. He had half expected to come home and find Michael ensconced in his study, a brandy and Cuban in each hand.

That really would have put a dampener on things.

Castiel catches his eye with the barest hint of a smile, and a gleam of anticipation that makes Dean's stomach twist pleasantly. It appears he has had a similar thought.

The car comes to a stop outside the front door, and Castiel gathers his gloves and programme quietly.

"Thank you for a pleasant evening Dean," He murmurs, hand on the door-handle.

"Of course Mr Novak," Dean meets his gaze evenly, trying to remain unfazed by the suggestive arch of the other man's eyebrow, "It was my pleasure."

Castiel's smile widens, "I very much doubt it," he smirks, "Opera is not to everyone's taste. But I appreciate it all the same."

Still smiling, he thanks the driver and bids them both goodnight. He exit the car and makes his way up to the house, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at Dean, along with a slight quirk of his lips.

Dean tries and fails not to follow the slight sway of his narrow hips as he walks; but his eyes are drawn automatically to where the well fitted outfit hugs the subtle curve of his…

"You need a ride home Dean?" The driver's voice suddenly pulls Dean from his gawking, as he puts the car back in gear and eases it around to the garage, "I've got an extra helmet for my bike if you want to hop on?"

Dean has to smother a chuckle at the thought of his own bulky frame on the back of a Honda Hobbit, he manages to keep a straight face as he politely declines.

"It's ok, I've got the Impala round the back, and I…" Dean scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "… and I wanted to give the place a quick once over for Mr Di Angeles before I leave."

It seems like a dubious excuse to Dean's own biased ears, but the other guy actually looks impressed by Dean's dedication.

Dean feels a little twinge of shame at that.

"Cool man, see you around then."

Dean smiles weakly as he watches the other man toss his chauffeur's jacket and cap into the trunk of the car, before donning a bright orange helmet with what looks like a Looney tunes character painted on the back. He tries to appear nonchalant bidding him goodbye… not at all like someone who is watching like a hawk, waiting to make sure you actually leave. But as the small tinny engine splutters to life and chugs out of the garage, Dean can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

With one last glance around, he makes his way to the back door.

(***)

Castiel stands at the drawing room's large bay window, his fingers worrying the cuff of his jacket restlessly as he tracks the single red light retreating down the drive. The taillight shrinks to a pinprick as he watches, then blinks suddenly from existence when the moped turns onto the main road.

He lets out a small sigh of relief, leaning his brow against the cool pane of glass in an attempt to steady his rioting nerves. Its craziness to even contemplate what he's doing now, a bigger risk than any other he's taken… but then he's long known that he has no sanity where Dean Winchester is concerned.

Castiel watches as the glass fogs in time with his uneven breathing. He finds the focus of the small water droplets forming and dissipating oddly soothing, and observes them so intently he barely hears the soft creak behind him which is his only warning before a strong pair of arm are wrapped around his waist and a solid weight pressed to his back.

He smiles as he is engulfed by the familiar scent of leather and motor oil that could be only one person, and leans back into the other man, letting out a soft sigh when warm lips find the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Hello Dean," he murmurs, tilting his head to allow better access, and groaning quietly when Dean takes full advantage, using tongue and teeth to scrape and tease. Dean grips his hips, pulling him back tightly, allowing Castiel to feel the already solid length of Dean's arousal pressed into his backside. Castiel deliberately rolls his hips back, hard, against the taller man's groin, whimpering quietly at the low growl Dean breathes hot into his ear.

"You've been such a fucking tease tonight Cas… you know that?"

Castiel braces his hands against the window as Dean grinds slowly against his ass.

"I have no idea what you're talking ab… ah!" Castiel breaks off with a choked gasp when one of Dean's hands slides down to his crotch, firmly pressing against his own hard cock. "God Dean…"

He manages to push himself upright and turns abruptly, his lips search blindly until his mouth finds Dean's and he moans in relief. The kiss deepens instantly, Dean's tongue sliding insistently between his lips as Castiel gropes between them to tease the hot bulge pressed to Dean's thigh.

"Fuck Cas…" Dean breaks away to groan, want coursing through him and making him lightheaded. Castiel begins pushing feverishly at Dean's clothes, desperate to feel naked skin under his fingers. Dean takes up the pace, growling in frustration when Castiel's shirt refuses to cooperate; retaliating by ripping it open, sending small white buttons flying in all directions.

Dean shoves Castiel up against the window, crowding in on him to press their bodies together. Castiel gasps, his sense overwhelmed by the feel of the icy glass against his back, compared to the burning heat of Dean's flesh at his front. His fingers rake Dean's skin, clutching at the other man and dragging him closer. Dean moans, catching onto Castiel's lips again and swallowing each of his breathy sighs.

It's been far too long since he had those hands on him.

"I wanna taste you Cas…" Dean growls in the other man's ear, "I want to take you in my mouth, and swallow you down." Castiel whimpers, a searing heat blazing through him. "Would you like that Cas? Huh? Would you like seeing me on my knees for you?"

Castiel can only whine, a low wrecked sound that goes beyond words.

"You'll have to do better than that," Dean's hands start work on the other man's belt, undoing his trousers and slipping a hand inside to palm his leaking cock through his underwear. "Talk to me Cas, tell me what you want…tell me what you need to make this birthday perfect..."

"You Dean…" Castiel manages to gasp, gripping on to the heavy damask curtains behind him as Dean drops to his knees. "Your mouth…"

He chokes back a cry when Dean pulls down his underwear, exposing his hard flesh to the cool air. Dean flicks out his tongue, almost experimentally, dipping into the slit and stealing the drop of pre-come beading there. He smirks as Castiel pushes forwards, trying to make him take more; he grips the other man's hips, forcing him to stay still, and looks up through his lashes into frustrated blue eyes.

"Tell me Cas…" He whispers, "Tell me what to do."

Dean continues to tease with his tongue, holding Castile's blown gaze; small kittenish licks that do nothing for Castiel but increase his exasperation. When Dean's lips close loosely over the flushed head of his dick, enclosing him in damp heat but offering little in the way of friction, Castiel can't bite his tongue any longer.

"God Dean… please," he almost sobs, "Please suck me… please… please…"

Gratified to hear Castiel beg, but unable to hold back any longer anyway, Dean quickly takes Castiel's length into his mouth, relaxing his throat and taking him all in one go. Castiel practically howls at the sudden pressure; his knees buckle and it's only Dean's grip on his hips that keeps him upright.

Dean moans listening to the other man falling apart, he doesn't think he will ever get enough of the delicious sounds Castiel makes. The cries now falling from his lips, along with the familiar weight of the other man on his tongue have Dean scrambling with his own flies to release his aching erection.

He quickly finds a rhythm, swallowing around Castiel's cock, and dragging a tight fist over himself. He feels Castiel's thighs clench and knows the other man is close… so he is surprised when he finds himself being pushed away violently and dragged to his feet.

"Fuck Cas, I wanted to…" Dean is cut off from voicing his displeasure by the suffocating kiss he is pulled into, and the swift tongue plundering his mouth.

"Had to touch you," Castiel groans into his mouth, fingers searching out the solid weight of his erection, and gripping it eagerly.

Ok, Dean can certainly get on board with that.

He takes the other man in hand, sweat and pre-come easing the way as he works him roughly, simultaneously chasing his own release. They clutch at each other tightly, sharing air whilst their bodies clamour forwards.

"God Dean," Castiel presses his face into Dean's throat, his balls tightening as he charges towards oblivion, "Fuck Dean… I'm gonna… I'm gonna come…"

"Come on Cas, let me watch you… let me see you come hard…"Dean keeps his eyes trained on the other man's face, enthralled by the expression of bliss painting his cheeks pink and screwing his eyes shut.

He has never seen anything so fucking beautiful.

"Dean…" Castiel lets out a long low cry, body locking up as he seizes and releases over Dean's fingers. His hand goes limp around Dean's cock, but just the sight of the other man, along with a few thrusts against the loose grip have Dean following right after. Dean lets out a hoarse shout, his vision blurring at the edges whilst his legs threaten to give way. He is distantly aware of Castiel's voice in his ear, encouraging him from height to height, and then, everything is white...

(***)

For a long time there is only the ragged sounds of their breathing, as both men come down from their highs, struggling to slow their racing hearts.

Dean holds Castiel tightly in the aftermath of their orgasms, unwilling to let even an inch of space between them.

"God I've missed you…" he breathes eventually, inhaling the sweat cooling on the other man's skin. His chest aches at the feeling of Castiel held closely in his arms, too long since he had it last. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Castiel leans back heavily on the pleasantly cool window, pulling Dean to him, tucking his head under his chin. He runs his fingers carefully through Dean's hair.

"Me too Dean," he murmurs, pressing his lips softly to Dean's damp brow. He closes his eyes and sighs heavily. "Me too."


End file.
